Convergence
by Romipen
Summary: Five months after the inception job and Ariadne is on a plane, flying toward convergence, flying back to the dream. / Post-Film.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** Inception © Christopher Nolan

**A/N:** Post Film - Ariadne/Eames-centric shortfics. I have no predetermined destination for them – what will be, will be.

**

* * *

**

...

_"When we are dreaming alone it is only a dream.  
When we are dreaming with others, it is the beginning of reality."_

...

When Ariadne received the letter, it was Miles who had handed it to her. He had called her after class and she had descended those immemorial stairs, all soft wood and heavy imprint. He had handed her the envelope, told her Cobb had sent it. If she had looked dazed, he understood. He understood a great many things - and Ariadne had a confident, someone who knew the secret world; the dream. If she had looked dazed, taking the letter in her hands, Miles understood. He understood very well.

Five months.

Had it been five months?

Sometimes when she sat alone, some empty corridor wedged against the water-stained window panes, gazing and gazing and gazing, she would believe it all nothing but a dream. A half-remembered dream. Wasn't that right? But those weren't her words, and deep inside she knew it was more than just fleeting memories; the reason her dreams had long since lost their luster. There really was no going back.

So when she stood there, taking the letter in her hands, and Miles understanding her momentary dismay, she already knew, somewhere deep and secret inside, that she would have never been able to stay away. Would never desire anything but that world, the dreams. She'd never have to explain it. Especially not to Miles, he understood better than most - so he let her fly.

So Ariadne flew, one-way, catching the red-eye.

Fischer's empire was crumbling, tearing away at the foundations, just as their inception had made for it. Saito's corporation would survive, and even more, it would grow. There was to be a merging of one of the divided Fischer-branches and Saito's own company - ensuring his corporation's longevity in the energy market. Saito was to throw a corporate gala, a business party of impressive quality (_granted_) to kick off the merger. In good amity and well bred manners, he had extended his inception crew invitations. What would his empire be if not for their risk?

Ariadne fingered the sophisticated little invite. The card, tastefully thick, raised insignia, gold-leafed - her name type-printed, Saito's signature flourishing the bottom. Saito was a good man, if she hadn't known that before the inception, she had discovered as much after.

She tucked the card back into the envelope, neatly against Cobb's letter. She couldn't say, at this point, how many times she had taken both out to read, only to place them back inside. She could probably quote each at this point, but she was excited, afterall. There was a small thrill in her. Cobb had brought her into an incredible world, a secret world where she had met some of the most amazing people she felt she would ever meet, and the chance to see them again - she was excited, to say the least.

She glanced down in her lap, at the envelope and at Cobb's letter. She resisted the urge to pull it out again. It had been simple and direct - he had written his regards, inquired about her current affairs at the college, and hoped she would be attending the event. He had written briefly about being home, about his children, but had wished to tell her more in person. Ariadne wished for nothing else, gazing gazing gazing out her window to the deep black and falling into a light slumber. She dreamt of beaches and children laughing, of sitting in some bright and empty room, a half-circle of companionable teasing.

While she dreamt, Ariadne flew - one-way on the red-eye.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** Inception © Christopher Nolan

**A/N:** Post Film - Ariadne/Eames-centric shortfics. I adore the boys from Mombassa. They make my soul smile, they do.

**

* * *

**...

"_I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long.  
If we're in each others dreams, we can be together all the time.__"_

...

There is a Swahili proverb that goes "_dunia_ _duara_", the earth is round; wherever you roam, you will return to the same old place.

He was in Los Angeles for a while. He supposed they all were. Cobb was the first to leave directly, and they couldn't have been happier for him. Cobb was where his heart had been left behind; what remained of it. Maybe he had been the next to leave, maybe he hadn't been. In all honesty he just dropped out - it was his custom, and there wasn't anything to keep his interest rooted. Saito's payment was wired and then he was off, following some hot wind and the trace melody of vice.

...

When Ariadne arrived at the complex, Cobb was already there, Arthur at his side (always), and two small children clutching the hem of his pants. James and Phillipa. This was Cobb, this was the idea that had defined him - and Ariadne felt some final piece of the puzzle fall into place; finally able to connect with the intangible - two beautiful, little faces.

"That was fast," Cobb mused. "I was surprised when Miles called."

She offered one of her little, crooked smiles. "He worries about me. You remember."

_Like you did. You remember that. What was it you saw - something in me? Was I too a shade? Some living reflection of something young and unblemished? Something you had lost? Some piece you had forgotten down there with Mal? Was it you, forgotten in the past?_

Cobb gave that nod, the one where his eyes narrowed and a little half-smile rose, boring into her. "Yes, I remember." He quickly changed his focus. "I'd like you to meet my children - James, and this is Phillipa."

Ariadne was delighted, elated, and she fell into step alongside Arthur (who helped her with her luggage) as she became acquainted with the Cobb family. It redefined some aspects she had once understood about the man, and Arthur told her that once before, it had always been like this.

...

_Dunia_ _duara._

Somewhere along the route he had wound his way back to Mombassa. It was something in the coastal wind, some fragrance of spice and earth, some song amidst the tempid pulse of the city; his soul a-thrum with the psalm.

Yusuf was pleased he had come back, said it was just as well his home; the chemist (the dream-runner) back to his secret designs. A world within a world beyond dim walls and colored glass, the dye of synthetics. He had told Yusuf he could have found his way back to Mombassa blind, following the scent of the chemist's personal brand of methaqualone. Yusuf told him to sod off.

He laughed, they both laughed a little, and then he told Yusuf the reason he had come back.

...

"Yusuf will be flying within the week, we can probably expect him in a few days time. He's digging up Eames, but they should make it."

He was being kind, she knew he was saying it for her benefit. She hadn't meant to, but she had been slightly disappointed when she had found part of their old crew absent. She may not have had spent as much time with the forger or chemist on the inception job, but she had always found their colorful characters comforting. It was something that had always helped to alleviate her mind after some of the darker, more taxing aspects of the venture; the heavy heartache that had been Cobb's aura.

"They'll make it in their own time."

She smiled up at Arthur, reliable-as-ever Arthur, and was reminded of that solid nature she had come to so intensely admire.

"Where's Cobb?" she asked, to change the topic.

"Up with James and Phillipa. They'll be down momentarily. Saito's invited us to dinner tonight, so we won't be touring far today."

"I thought that I'd buy a dress for the event, I don't really have anything on hand..."

"We'll find you somewhere you can get one."

She stood there silently for a moment, not sure what to do or what to say about the way he was looking at her. That keen, amused little gaze, like back in the hotel, when everyone had been watching...

"Would you like to go get breakfast?"

Her lips quirked, "Yes."

...

There is another Swahili proverb that goes, "_bahati ni upepo sasa upo kwangu_", luck is the breeze; like the wind, favor won't always be blowing on your side.

Somewhere down in Uruguay, the wind turned away from him. He told Yusuf as much, and neither was overly troubled. Easy come, easy go. When working dark streets, you meet unsavory persons. Yusuf understood, he told the chemist he was going underground for a while, neither was overly troubled. Like any good fox, he would burrow his way out of a mess; no sense in leading the hounds to the den.

Yusuf had asked what he'd do. He didn't answer, not really. Maybe find another stint, maybe squander what was left from his last. In the end, it was all just the lifestyle, just water under the bridge. So he bid adieu, and for a few months he dropped off the map; he disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:** Inception © Christopher Nolan

**A/N:** I'm writing on a train, a train that will take me far away. I know where I hope this train will take me but I can't be sure. But it doesn't matter - because I keep on writing.

* * *

...

"_Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake.__"_

...

Two days later (just as Arthur had predicted) Yusuf landed, arriving at the complex loaded with luggage and smelling of African wind and the stain of sleep-aid. He bore the same smile, the one that always reached his eyes, made them crinkle, and the same dark mop of hair; a spiral not so unlike the dark cochlear of his dream-world back in the heat of Mombassa.

It was only later that day, at the bar as she talked with Yusuf, that Eames came up in discussion. The chemist had merely shrugged his shoulders, that little quirk up and down, and told her he assumed that Eames would come. She had asked why he already hadn't and Yusuf laughed, told her jovially that the forger got his hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar. She didn't understand, and maybe her look told Yusuf so because he leaned in, and taking a liberty, and told her that Eames was running from someone. The chemist had immediately regretted his choice of words and bumbled through cleaning up his mess, back-tracking that it wasn't that bad, trying to erase that look from her face - he hadn't meant to distress her so.

"_What's happened?_"

She was all eyes, afflicted, so big and so full of questions - always so full of questions. Yusuf shrugged helplessly, he didn't know, but it wasn't anything to worry about. She didn't look relieved and the chemist went on to tell her that things like this just happened - it was in their line of work, they played dodgy games, and she suddenly seemed to remember. He offered her a comforting smile, all hesitant and awkward laugh, told her that it wasn't just a dream for them, they were the nefarious sort even in the waking world. Told her sometimes you got lucky and sometimes you didn't, the way of the world, told her that Eames was very good at his business, told her that he would be here, told her he was just lying low. Ariadne made herself accept his words - it didn't lessen the little crease between her brow, but she understood and seemed content with that for the time being.

To get her mind off the subject, Ariadne asked Yusuf how his work was going. He only smiled at her, smiled and turned to the rest of his drink.

...

A day here, a day there, she wasn't sure when he had landed - perhaps sometime in the night - but early that morning he was just there. Just sitting. She couldn't say why, but she had an early start that day - perhaps something in a dream had brought her awake, and as she meandered down into the lobby she saw him there. He was just sitting, slouching into one of the chic chairs, bantering with Arthur and casually pulling apart some pastry or other. He looked exactly as he had before, all loose jacket and Kenya's best patterned across his shirt. She watched him behave exactly as he had before - foot jumping in time to their conversation, hands busy, eyes downcast.

Ariadne couldn't really label why she felt so relieved at seeing the man. She mused at the thought that it could be his particular business - dark streets bred dark sorts. Perhaps he was the wild card, perhaps because he was more distant than Cobb or Arthur, or perhaps Yusuf had just succeeded in scaring her. They were like kites, kites on strings, and she was trying to keep them steady against the pull of gray skies - afraid that they'd break away. Maybe Eames's kite flew higher, maybe the wind pulled harder, and maybe she felt the need to check the string more carefully. They were like kites, different colors all on strings, and they had become the color of her dreams.

It was a horrible thing to discover that home had become a secret world within people scattered across the globe.

The forger looked up then, suddenly looking directly at her, and she wondered not for the first time if he was self-trained to feel a gaze. From where he sat she saw something in the contours of his face soften - he looked amused. As if it were her cue, Ariadne closed the distance, Arthur just noticing her approach.

"Eames," she greeted.

He was staring solidly into her, gray eyes comforted by his smile. "Our little architect - what the job's done to you. You look splendid. How is school, then?"

She felt one side of her lips curl up, cranberry-pink as they always were.

"Just fine. How's..." she re-thought it, "how are you?"

His eyes were telling, because hers were more so, and he shifted for comfort in his seat. "It so happens that I'm on vacation. How convenient Saito's hospitality has been." He regarded the room, she wouldn't doubt it a ploy to change topic. "Shall we make a coffee-run before the others get up?"

Arthur liked the idea, Ariadne liked it too.

"That would be nice."

...

She smiles and says, "You should know what you like."

He looks bemused and responds, "Yes, I should."

...

Later, they walk back to the hotel, drinks in those little cardboard carriers, and he's making her laugh. She balances the chocolate for Phillipa and James, eating from a bag of sweets. They walk back into the lobby and Arthur is waiting for them, Yusuf and Cobb with the children. They disperse the drinks and then they move to the luncheonette to share breakfast. They sit, in a half-circle of companionable teasing, and everything is like the dream again. Back in some bright and empty room, forging dreams and building something that would knit them together into the fabric of an idea. Different colors, following different winds, but all on string. She had her kites all in one hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** Inception © Christopher Nolan

**A/N:** I want to apologize again and again. I'm so sorry for the incredibly late update. I've been hard pressed with medical as of late (anatomy can be rather annoying) and I've just been rather busy with all the work. I want to fully apologize for not saying this earlier, but... THANK YOU, so very much, for all the incredible support you, the readers, have given me. It's such a warm feeling to see how many of you have added this little story to your alerts and so forth, and I want to especially thank all the kind reviewers I have. You make it worth the while to know that something about this insane ramble is enjoyable. Thank you. Also, sorry for flipping tenses in the last chapter. I wanted to give the feeling that we're switching to the present, and in this chapter, we are very presently present.

One last apology before I go... Sorry this chapter is so long. I really don't know how that happened.

* * *

...

"We are the music makers,  
And we are the dreamers of dreams,  
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,  
And sitting by desolate streams;—  
World-losers and world-forsakers,  
On whom the pale moon gleams:  
Yet we are the movers and shakers  
Of the world for ever, it seems._"_

...

Ariadne dreams of kites and windy skies, sun flashing behind bright clouds like pennies glinting in a pond. Every kite has a color. Every kite is on a string. One kite is like a heavy cloud, one kite is a bright Merlot, one kite is like golden wheat, and one kite keeps changing colour.

She wakes up in the here and now.

..

It doesn't take Ariadne long to learn that it doesn't necessarily matter whether you win at a table or whether you lose - not when what really matters is how well you play your sleight of hand. Eames teaches her that, later that day seated around some small, polished table. Arthur tells him not to corrupt her (for a third time) and Eames tells Arthur to stop being so dull. Ariadne gets the feeling that she'll never amount to more than a mediocre card player - but she'd delight in taking them a turn around the chessboard anytime they're willing (which doesn't seem anytime too soon). In the meantime, she sits and listens to the Forger explain some aspects of his game while trouncing Arthur and herself thoroughly. Arthur is unimpressed by it all, but it doesn't mean that Ariadne is. It doesn't matter whether you're on top or saying farewell to your last chip - all you really aim to do is become as discreet as possible. You play just well enough to avoid ruin, but you don't play so well you become elite gossip. You make enough for a fair game and you leave the table with that - because your game, your _real_ game, isn't yet up.

And Arthur turns to her and says, "You can see, he's not to be trusted."

They sit there and watch Eames clean them out before Yusuf finally shows, looking for the world like he's just put down his cat.

Eames smiles knowingly, "Ready then, eh, Yusuf?"

The Chemist grumbles, "Let us get it done then, if we must."

..

Cobb and Arthur excuse themselves politely but avidly from the men's ensemble boutique, taking James and Phillipa, and no doubt finding something more entertaining than watching the other two men dress and undress. Ariadne couldn't be more amused; the two from Mombassa whine unendingly.

Yusuf groans, "I could buy an entire resort for what I'm spending on one bloody suit."

She smiles, "You look regal, Yusuf!"

He looks even more miserable.

Eames pulls a face at the mirror, "American suits are medieval, no proper taste in the beastly things."

She gives a look, "You're being prejudice."

He only offers a quick smirk, vanished behind curtain again.

In the end they're sorted out - Eames gone with the softer cashmere and Yusuf with the less expensive wool. The super count is commendable but not exorbitant, and both have been well fitted. The Chemist has gone for an easy solid black, and the Forger (never one for being plain) has a deep blue pinstripe piece. Yusuf mourns his wallet and Eames laughs at his friend's bashed expression. They'll look amazing, for all the hassle it's been. Ariadne has already seen.

They're already in the park, walking towards the lake, when Eames considers the Architect. He starts to ask her what she's wearing when James turns from the glare of the reflecting lake, blowing from pink lips on a colorful pinwheel. The question dies half-way, and she turns expectantly for more, but it's gone - taken with the wind. There's some strange look the Forger is wearing instead, and she realizes for the first time in five months that perhaps she hasn't been the only one who took something back with them from the flight. It's the first time she starts to consider the souvenirs of her colleagues. It's the first time she wonders how much about them she doesn't know. She isn't surprised. Ariadne is never surprised at the prospect of discovery.

Arthur turns then and sees them and smiles, and Ariadne feels some of the warmth from the sun reflecting inside. They join the others at the water's edge.

..

They have dinner in a restaurant that Saito owns - and it's likely the reason why they receive an extended table. Saito joins them and they have a remarkably enjoyable time of dining. Ariadne sits between Arthur and Cobb, and the Point Man helps her choose from the menu. She's never been to an establishment like this before, and he seems to enjoy her wonder. Somewhere between his soft-spoken banter and the warm looks she receives, Ariadne remembers exactly how much she missed the company.

It was different with inception. They were all in a fever of work. Cobb was such a haunted man, lost in a dream he couldn't let go, slowly dragging them down his dark spiral with him. Like a his top, never-ending. Arthur tried to help her where he could. Saito, Eames, Yusuf - they were all distant and so much more mature than her. She felt they respected her brilliance and her work, but they were immersed in their own preparations, and she had no part in that. Arthur sacrificed time to help her build. Cobb couldn't. So it was left to the little moments - when Yusuf would leave his lab or Eames would come back from the company - sitting in some half-circle and piecing the puzzle together, that she began to understand them. She taught a city to Yusuf and she taught a fortress to Eames, and in turn she learned a little about both in the process. At the point of landing, grabbing luggage and saying farewell while trying not to look it, they had all probably learned a little about her as well.

This time is different. They sit and talk and tease and there is no job hanging over their heads, there is nothing but each other between them. Arthur leans over and asks quietly if she enjoys her meal, and she smiles up at him, looks at his soft eyes, and says yes. She says yes and wishes that it could always be like this, but knows it can't.

She turns back to the table when Cobb has said something that sends Saito and Eames laughing and Yusuf sulking into his glass of champagne. Arthur is still smiling down at her.

..

The Keeper of Dreamers and the Master of Lies. Ariadne walks in on both wrangling the heavy silver case away from Arthur. The Point Man looks displeased.

"If you break it-"

"No one's going to place harm upon your precious toy, Arthur." Eames chides. "You really should trust us by now, how long have we been doing this?"

Arthur just scowls. "I'd say that you're addicted."

Eames smiles back, "How droll."

The Forger pries the device away and passes it to Yusuf, who takes it enthusiastically, turning for the door and seeing their Architect standing beside the frame.

"Oh, hello there."

Ariadne looks from one to the next. "You're running dreams?"

Eames shoots her a sharp look. "A little more subtly, if you don't mind."

Her face grows a shade pinker, but Arthur is already across the room, ushering the others out.

"Go do your research and be sure to bring it back when you're done."

The door closes. Ariadne gives him one of those looks he's become familiar with by now, and he knows her question before she asks it.

"What are they doing?"

His lips are a thin line. "Experimenting with a new sedative."

They're going into the dream. She feels something burn inside her, like old embers reawakened. She doesn't know how she convinces Arthur, but they're walking across the hall, and she's knocking on Yusuf's door, calling through the wood. He answers after a minute.

Eames is stretched out in a chair, already well under. Yusuf is excited to have a second opinion, Arthur isn't particularly happy about it. The Chemist straps her in, hooks her up, and she sinks into the chair beside the Forger, his hands folded neatly in his lap, face serene. She grips the arms of the chair (in preparation, excitement?) and feels the reality around her slip away...

Ariadne approaches a door at the end of the dim corridor. The lights are dull, and the richness of the wood sets a deep red mood to the atmosphere. The door ahead is slightly ajar, and there's a yellow glow from beyond, where she can see around the edges. She can hear something ahead, thinks she hears laughter like bells, but it drowns out before she's sure she's heard anything. She reaches the door, hears something on the other side, and she doesn't know why she holds her breath when she pushes it open.

There's a woman sitting before a gorgeously ornate vanity, arms resting on the cherry-wood, hands holding her head as she sobs into the mirror. Her shoulders shake with the guttural lament, the cream of her silk dress pooling around her bare feet. Ariadne freezes there, confronted with this. The woman looks brokenly into the mirror again and her dark brown eyes catch the girl in the doorway and suddenly she's standing and her eyes have gone gray.

She asks, "What are you doing here?"

Ariadne is viciously reminded of another dream. "I-I'm sorry."

Eames pushes his hands into his pockets and he's standing there, folding in on himself in his familiar slouch. "Never mind that." He offers her a smile to put her at ease. "Didn't mean to startle you."

She tries to smile back, but she's sure he sees right through it. "Who was that?"

He closes his eyes, amused, and shrugs easily, "Old faces."

She stands there for a beat before she can approach him. "How do you do it?"

His eyes open, soft and gray, and he watches her near. "Can't afford to be giving away my secrets now, can I?"

She seems unimpressed and he laughs and motions her to follow him across the room where he opens another door on the opposite wall. She's at his side and she walks out into a field of gray skies and green as far as the eye can see, rolling in great round waves forever. He closes the door behind them, standing along the side of some old stone building.

There's a moment where Ariadne thinks they've entered one of her own dreams.

Eames is standing there, looking out across the moors, and she asks him suddenly, "Do you dream?"

He regards her for a moment, then tilts his head down and scuffs his shoe against the turf. "Not really. Been in this business for too long, I should think."

"Do you ever lose track of reality?"

This, he smiles at. "Forgers _always_ know when they're dreaming, Ariadne."

She thinks it over and after a moment she asks about Arthur.

"I haven't the faintest idea. You'll have to ask him yourself."

She's silent for just a moment or two, but the question's been there the entire time and she finally brings it to voice, "Will I stop dreaming too?"

She looks up and he's smiling down at her, something aimed to comfort.

"Let us hope not."

The door behind them opens and Arthur peeks out briefly and joins them in a few brisk strides. Eames has turned a different smile to the Point Man.

"Arthur! Do tell us! Do you still dream?"

The Point Man's face suggests him rather unprepared for the question. Ariadne laughs. They leave the building and the three of them spend the last of the dream by a pond - Arthur and Ariadne throwing pennies into the water and watching them sink and Eames trying on different faces in the rippling reflection.

They wake in the room and Yusuf is hanging over them, asking about the effect. Eames tells him it's too light and Arthur says it's too thin, they can feel like they're asleep. Yusuf sighs, grumbles, and writes himself notes. They pack up the machine and Arthur carries it to his room. Eames excuses himself for the night and Ariadne follows suit. Her hand is on the door handle when she feels a presence at her back, but she doesn't need to turn to know who it is.

"I can still dream."

She looks over her shoulder and he's there, hovering over her. She isn't at all surprised this time when he bends to kiss her. It feels like it lasts a lot longer than it truly does, and she thinks that maybe the dream world isn't the only place that can bend time.

He smiles and pulls away.

"Goodnight."

..

In the morning, they're down in the lobby, Ariadne is almost the last to come down except for Yusuf. She's at the trolley, placing a muffin on her plate, and smiling discretely every time Arthur brushes against her. She wants to think that the smile on the Forger's lips, half-way across the room and leaning against a pillar, has nothing to do with the little details he makes a living noticing.

She sits and eats her breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER:** Inception © Christopher Nolan

**A/N:** This is my eventful chapter. Unfortunately, I've raised the rating as a result, just to be safe. It's also another long chapter.

* * *

...

"_The dreamers of the day are dangerous men,__  
for they may act their dreams with open eyes,  
to make it possible.__"_

...

She realizes that this isn't supposed to be happening. She is not supposed to be here, walking in the dark of night down less than savory streets, following these two men. She's cold and she's uncertain and she's excited with the prospect of the unfamiliar. It's just her way.

He looks back at her, like he's just remembered her presence, and tilts his head - an amused smile pulling playfully against eyes that sparkle from some overhead light.

"Come along, then. With us."

She picks up her pace, joining alongside them. They cut along into an even darker alley and she watches them swallowed from the light, plunging in.

..

_"You can see, he's not to be trusted."_

She doesn't have an opinion. There's not much about the Forger that she really understands. So what's to trust? But isn't that the idea? How much you don't understand? Isn't it like the game? Your attention is on the dice and never the thief sitting nondescript at the table, handful of false chips tucked away in his pocket. He walks, he cashes, and you never suspect a thing.

That's the sport.

Or so she likes to think.

There's so much she doesn't pretend to understand. But it's in her nature to dig, to pull, to find the angles. She wants to pry it apart, examine the figures, see how they fit back together. It's like a puzzle, a maze, a labyrinth - and she's proven herself very much the wizard at those types of games. Cobb could attest.

So when she's sitting next to Arthur, who's reading the paper and sipping thoughtfully on a latté, she asks him, "How do Forgers always know when they're dreaming? Is it the shifting?"

He's silent for a moment, nothing giving away that he even heard her.

"...Yes, most likely."

"So why always with the totem?"

Arthur lifts his gaze up, across the room, and watches Eames twirling his chip between fingers. He's talking to Cobb who feeds his children breakfast. The man is calm, slouched against the wall and looking amused.

"He fidgets. He's not fighting for reality, if that's what you think."

Energy, she thinks. Nervous energy.

"So they have an advantage." It's a statement.

He considers this for a moment, head tilting just fractionally. "Perhaps. Just a bit - but they're not immune to the slip. No one is."

She's staring across the room too. "Like Limbo?"

"Yes... but also the convergence."

At this, she turns to look at him, but he's staring across the floor still. "You mean the projections?"

He looks mildly amused. "No. Not that. It's their own type of convergence. It's not a well known topic." His takes another thoughtful sip from his cup. "It's a theory - it's like in the Dream. Projections converge on the dreamer - but in this case, forgeries converge on the Forger. They paint so many colors that eventually they forget what was the original base."

"You mean they forget themselves?"

He shrugs this little hitch in his shoulders. "Possibly. It's only acknowledged as a theory - there's no real way of telling, and there's not usually any damage done. They usually don't even realize it's happened themselves."

She's looking back across the room as Eames pulls a coin from behind Phillipa's ear, to the children's infinite delight.

"How do you know about it, then?"

Arthur considers the question, "Back when we first started there was this one job and we wound up needing a Forger. We received two names through our contacts, but one was no longer in the business. He was a ruin - and they had called it convergence. Anyway, that's how we wound up working with Eames, which was lucky – as you can see, he's very good at what he does."

She stares across the room with Arthur and Eames looks up, casually throwing back a glance. He smiles, and Ariadne has the unnerving feeling that he _knows_. Can feel their conversation like he feels their eyes. Arthur frowns disapprovingly back.

"Would you like to see a movie with me tonight?"

She's unprepared, and when startled eyes look up he's staring down at her. He's soft and patient and he's smiling.

He's smiling, and he's like bright Merlot.

..

She has all her kites on strings, but one keeps changing color, and she starts to wonder if it even had a color to begin with.

..

There is a reason Arthur has the PASIV sat neatly in his room, and another reason Yusuf is carrying a case full of his Mombassa dream draught. It's not overly surprising - it's been five full months already, and eager souls twitch for thrill. Cobb is not an eager soul, he is a weary soul, haunted and hurt and starting to heal, and he is not thrilled in the slightest over Arthur's proposal.

He doesn't want any more jobs. This is what he says. At least not now. Arthur can't deny his disappointment, and he pushes and Cobb is angry and pushes back. He can build now and he's conquered Mal and he's the best damn Extractor out there. But Cobb just wants to mend with his children, with his life, and he doesn't want the risk, the travel, the plunge into where he fought so hard to get free from. His slip.

He finally has reality.

He hardly has to check the top.

Outside the room, Ariadne is poised, listening with large eyes to the argument. She can hear heated voices from outside the door, and she can't bring herself to interrupt, even if it's to tell Arthur she's ready. Been ready. She's been standing there for near five minutes, and they'll be late if she lingers any longer, but her hands keep to her sides and she doesn't move. She's a little crestfallen because even if they both make it, only one of them will really be watching. Even still, no one will be in the right mood. Cobb's lingering effect.

Their voices rise again. The children are back in Cobb's room.

Down the hall Yusuf's door opens and he steps out, locking it behind him. He notices her mildly and waves over and comes to another door and knocks. Eames eventually comes out, shrugging into his jacket, and locks his door and they carry on down the hall towards her.

She's embarrassed. They pause alongside her and they take in the sounds coming from the other side of the door.

"Eavesdropping on lover's quarrel?" Eames jokes, but she looks even more upset and he ends up regretting his words. He sighs and runs a hand through his short, side-ways hair. He glances at the door, eyes considering, hand rubbing along his jaw.

Yusuf is looking at her curiously, tucking his hands calmly into his loose pants. "Were you heading out, then?"

Ariadne tries to smile, but doesn't do a very good job. "Was."

Eames turns to look at Yusuf and the Chemist is suddenly looking uncertain, wearing a face she recognizes as his idea of a bad idea. It doesn't matter to a Forger settled, and Eames leans down, smiling.

"Why don't you come along with us, eh? Could always use a lady for luck."

Yusuf looks uncertain a moment longer before Eames's charming smile wins him over. It wins Ariadne over a moment after that.

"All right."

..

She realizes that this isn't supposed to be happening. She is not supposed to be here, walking in the dark of night down less than savory streets, following these two men. She was supposed to be at a film, sat warm and comfortable next to Arthur with the prospect of something exciting and unnerving afterwards.

Certainly not here, trudging in the dark, less sunny side of town. She's cold and she's uncertain but she's excited with the prospect of the unfamiliar. It's just her way.

Ariadne is not afraid of a challenge.

Eames looks back at her, like he's just remembered her presence, and tilts his head - an amused smile pulling playfully against eyes that sparkle from some overhead light.

"Come along, then. With us."

She picks up her pace, stepping up between them. They cut along into an even darker alley, swallowed from the light and plunge in. They walk in silence for a little ways before coming up before some lit up entry. There is a large man stood underneath the deep walkway, and he watches them approach with an unrelenting gaze. He smirks down at her when they approach and laughs when she reaches into her back pocket for her ID. Yusuf looks at her and Eames just smiles, ushering them past. They descend a few concrete steps and Yusuf pushes the door open for them.

Inside is dim. There is smoke and colored lights and dark walls with pictures, women hanging from men and rocking their hips from the bar to the tables. There is a hum of talk, laughter, the crack of a stick driving balls into pockets, men arguing and bantering around drinks and cards. Vice and money and pleasure and it is warm inside this little world behind dark, wet streets.

Eames saunters like a man of this game to the bar and they follow after him. They order drinks, the man behind the counter grinning in wolfish amusement at Ariadne and passes her a glass from the tap. Eames is smiling privately, jovially, clocking the game as he swallows down amber. Yusuf is grinning behind his glass as eyes follow the sway of hips. Ariadne grins because she feels some wicked prick of excitement crawl up her back. She is not supposed to be here.

They drink leisurely, Ariadne bounces up into a stool at the bar, and they banter between themselves. Small talk, little things, mostly directed at her. She smiles and talks and they listen good-naturedly and order more liquor. She's feeling the haze of drink, but she's barely started on her second glass. She watches them as they stand about in their own semi-circle of companionable teasing and picks at the pieces scattered about. She watches the way Yusuf gestures with his hands, the way Eames talks while his eyes case a room, the pleasant little way the Chemist smiles and the way the Forger can never be still.

Eames has the style to finish his drink just as the game held at the poker table comes to an end. He excuses himself and in his mild-swagger approaches the table as a new group takes seat. Yusuf and Ariadne order new drinks before they meander over to the table to watch the game.

..

It takes Ariadne a little longer to learn that it doesn't necessarily matter whether you cheat at a game or whether you play straight - it doesn't matter when you're not the only shark playing at the table. Eames never taught her this part of the game, now sitting around the small, threadbare bench. She knows that she doesn't amount to more than a mediocre card player - and it's no surprise she doesn't understand what a "gaff" is, doesn't understand "crimping cards" or being a part of "collusion"; can only understand that suddenly the game is up. The _real_ game is up.

It happens too fast for her, shocking a system lulled by drink. The table is spilling and there is violence rising, accusations blasting through the air like gunshots. Eames looks across at her for a brief second, calculating, and she sees him changing into something equally violent, equally aggressive. Yusuf is moving closer to her and then there are men converging on them, and everything is chaos.

She feels herself being ripped away and she's screaming, fighting viciously against it, sees Yusuf take a bottle to the side of his head and go down and she sees Eames and he's turning his back on his attacker to get to them. The man pulls something from his jacket as the Forger gets to her, smashes the face of the arms tearing her away, and she can only scream at him - scream at Eames as the man pulls something from his jacket and brings it down between the Forger's shoulders.

..

There's screaming.

Someone's screaming.

..

Inside is dim. There is smoke and colored lights and dark walls with pictures, women shrieking and men rocking their fists from the bar to the tables. There is a symphony of violence, shouts, the crack of a bottle splitting open a head, men shouting and fighting around drinks and cards. Vice and money and peril - and somehow they escape the heat inside this little world and break back to the dark, wet streets.

..

He's cringing and reaching back, grabbing the handle and pulling it out with his breath between his teeth, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat that twists something in her stomach, and he has it there in his hand. The blade glints red and sticky and he looks at the size of it and finally breathes out, "Jesus." His face is hard lines with beads of sweat sparkling on his forehead and she's suddenly frightened in a new way and doesn't know what to do.

"Where's Yusuf?" He sounds winded.

Ariadne snaps her attention up, he's asked her a question, and she scrambles to answer, scrambles to focus.

"I lost him - we got separated, I don't know where he is - I think they have him."

He curses and lowers the blade. He runs a shaky hand over his face, over his jaw and over his lip and above his brow and she recognizes it. Recognizes the action as his panic. She's almost amused at how much she's already picked up, but it's a numb thought beyond her fear. He nods his head forward. "Let's go find him," and he's lurching down the alley, head low in that distinctive way he has. She looks uncertainly between his shoulders at the angry, scarlet bloom unfurling through the fabric of his jacket. She follows after.

"...Eames?"

"Hurry up."

They find Yusuf two streets down. They find him by the cries of distress. Two men have him cornered, up against the wall as they viciously lash out at him. He's bleeding and hurt and frightened looking as they relentlessly beat at him. He can't do much to defend himself other than curl in on himself, arms raised to protect from the assault. He cries out as they kick him hard in the gut and he crumples down to the wet, filthy street. They're laughing at him, kicking at him, and Eames rushes them, using his elbow to bust the mouth of one and tackling the other away. Ariadne is beside Yusuf, grabbing his arms and trying to heave him to his feet while trying to keep a firm hold on the bloodied knife. Eames had given it to her, told her _not_ to lose it.

Eames is further down, smashing his fist into the man's gut, throwing his weight into the attack and pushing the man back to the wall. Ariadne almost has Yusuf up when she sees the other assailant getting to his feet and stalking towards the fight. His face is running blood to his shirt. She wants to run, to use the weapon (she's not sure if she can), provide interference, but Yusuf is heavy and moaning and it's happening all too fast for her inexperience. She opts to shout.

Eames turns sharply to look but the man is on him already and throwing a fist between his shoulders, to that scarlet splotch. Ariadne sees how the Forger crumples, how he jerks, how the color is swept from his face. They send him to the ground viciously. Yusuf is up now and he takes the knife from her and he's running back towards them. He looks terrified (she probably looks worse) but he looks determined.

The men are kicking Eames, stomping, trying to get at that place on his back but he's not giving it to them, twisting so he's up against the wall. Yusuf charges the one and drives the blade into him. He tries for the neck but gets a place just to the left, beside a shoulder - but the result is still good. He rips it back out in a wet spray as the man spins away, screaming. His partner forgets the thief on the ground momentarily, sizing up the the blade in Yusuf's hand. Eames wrenches himself to his feet, his chest is heaving and he's bleeding on himself, and lunges at his attacker's back. The guy goes down and the Forger spins the tables, kicking and bashing mercilessly. Yusuf is hefting the blade at the other man who holds his shoulder, blood pouring and looking less like a fight and more like running for his life. The man on the floor eventually goes still and Eames turns to threaten the other. The bleeding man opts for self-preservation and runs.

Ariadne has forgotten herself. She's standing beside the wall, staring with eyes that bulge, almost forgetting her body as she watches in a terrified trance. Yusuf groans, rubbing at his head tenderly and pulling away slick with blood. Eames puts his hands at his waist, leaning forward, focusing on his breathing. For the moment they have forgotten Ariadne as well. It takes a minute for the adrenaline to wear down. The man on the floor doesn't move. After a moment, Eames glances at her sideways from his spot and spits out blood, waving her over with a hand. It takes her a beat to remember her feet.

"You okay? You all right?"

She feels like crying. She doesn't, but she feels like it. She's sure she looks like it. Her eyes feel hot and glassy. All she can do is apologize.

"I... I'm sorry..."

They're standing there, bloodied and hurting and she has this terrible sensation that it's her fault. She doesn't know why. She suddenly realizes that for all the smiles and the allure and charm on display, that the games Eames plays are dark and ugly. That behind the humor and the jokes, the consequences are anything but funny.

Eames tries to shrug at her, but it hurts him too much. "You win some, you lose some."

It's an attempt at humor, but it falls flat. It doesn't comfort her as much as he would like it to. They change tactic and she simply helps them out of the dark and the filth and back onto a main street where they limp and stagger back to the complex.

It's a long, slow go.

Ariadne is frightened. Yusuf stumbles and Eames can't seem to keep his footing.

It's a while before they make it back.


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER:** Inception © Christopher Nolan

**A/N:** Thank you, my lovelies, for your reviews and cheer. C:

* * *

...

_"You cannot dream yourself into a character;  
you must hammer and forge yourself one ."_

...

He wakes and it's sudden and sharp, lying in the dark, open eyes the only thing that's changed. The first thing he considers is that this is not his room; this is not his bed. He waits for what woke him and he hears it again. A soft little sound not so different than a hum; a slow and constant rhythm. He sits himself up, pushes back the ache, and looks over.

Ariadne is on the courting chair - she's snoring lightly.

He stays that way for a while, sitting and watching her.

..

Ariadne is different. She doesn't quite fit into the mold. She was born under ordinary circumstances to an ordinary family and had for the most part of her life carried on in what she would equate to an ordinary lifestyle. She is a student, she is an architect, and at the same time she is much more than that.

Eames can laugh at himself for how little he had considered her before. He had felt her difference when they had met, when they had worked together, but he had just never dwelt on it. The young new thing - all doe-eyes and unabashed curiosity. He had been busy, he had been preoccupied and uninterested in baby-sitting. He knows now why Arthur spares his time just as he is suddenly unsurprised that Cobb did make it out of that pit in Limbo. The bishop is not so much unlike a lighthouse - some weighted, brass beacon.

Ariadne is different. She knows about building dreams, bending cities into impossible shapes, about smudging the line between reality and fantasy. There are no more boundaries. There are no more limitations. Yet Ariadne still is different. She sees other lines, other angles. There is morality, there is right and wrong, there are friendships and responsibilities to them. She doesn't quite fit into the mold of this game. She'll flip a city just to see it from another angle.

Eames stumbles into the room supported and supporting. Ariadne is trying to get him to the sink, but all he wants to do is sit; to lie down. He gracelessly collapses onto Yusuf's couch and the Chemist staggers into his bathroom on his own. There is water running and Eames can't be troubled to place from where with his eyes screwed shut and his head still ringing. There is muffled talk and then something cold up against the side of his face and dull eyes open and she's standing there, staring down at him. There's a wet towel against the swelling along the side of his jaw. Bloody, swollen knuckles reach up and clumsily press against the wet cloth, holding it. He hears her say, "Don't fall asleep."

Ariadne is a mover and shaker. She changes the game.

Eames watches her hurry off beyond his sight and he can hear Yusuf groaning from somewhere and Eames thinks that they can all sod off and he closes his eyes and escapes for the while.

Ariadne is different.

Eames thinks that's the string that binds.

Ariadne's string.

..

She wakes and it's slow and groggy, lying in the dark uncertain and disoriented. The first thing she considers is that this is not her bed - this is not nearly as comfortable. She looks for what woke her and he's standing over her, leaning into her view, a shadow. A soft rumbling sound, not so different than a heavy hum, says her name again. She straightens up and hears her back pop faintly. There is something against her palm - she tucks it into her pocket.

Ariadne is on Yusuf's small sofa. Eames is watching her, offering a hand.

"Time for bed, Ariadne."

Ariadne tries to place the pieces back together.

"I was dreaming..."

He watches her patiently.

"I don't remember of what."

He helps her up and watches as she rubs at her eyes.

She looks up at him in the dark and whispers, "It wasn't all a dream, was it?"

He smiles a little and he doesn't know if she can see it or not and says, "Afraid not, love."

She looks around in the dark for a moment, placing the pieces back together.

..

Eames is a liar. He is a thief, a grifter, a fraud. Eames is a forger of records and papers; a forger of identities. He creates elaborate lies and sells them to dreamers. He is a shifter. He is a lie.

Ariadne opens the door, Yusuf keeps fumbling with the keys. There is a ridiculous comfort upon entering the room, one little lamp casting a warm golden glow across the walls. She helps them inside.

Eames is from Mombassa. She doesn't know whether he lives there or just spends his time there. She doesn't know if it's just another place on the map or some song that stirs him. She thinks privately that he belongs there, somewhere exotic and dusty and beautiful, smelling of spice and earth and coastal winds. Some tepid pulse running through twisting streets and thrumming back-alley markets.

Ariadne watches Eames slump into the couch, dark eyes hooded and distant. She tells him not to fall asleep. He focuses on her briefly and bleary and she sees gray - heavy gray, like a monsoon. She thinks it's befitting, the gray. No color to ground him, no distinction between black and white. She leaves and helps Yusuf in the bathroom, the Chemist wet and dripping blood into the sink. She digs around for the first-aid and can't help the tiny tremors in her hands.

Eames is a gambler. He enjoys the game and the thrill of chance, but he is not an unnecessary risk taker. He always has a backup plan. He always has a card up his sleeve, a loaded die. A stack of chips tucked into a pocket. Trap doors and air ducts that cut through a maze. She understands this. All is fair in love and war. Eames likes to rig his games so he can walk away from them every time. He doesn't believe in unnecessary risk - not when you have a vivid imagination, and no clear distinction between black and white. He's clever and versatile and witty, and somewhere along the way he smudged the line into a shade of gray.

Ariadne and Yusuf make it back out of the bathroom. The Chemist is disoriented and growing groggy and she's trying to keep him alert, trying to keep him focused. Eames has fallen asleep on the couch and she tries to wake him, tries to wake him, tries to wake him up, and Yusuf is suddenly there with a bottle of whiskey. He pulls off the Forger's jacket and pours whiskey down his back and she watches the striking way Eames comes awake at that.

Eames is a Forger. Ariadne looks in a mirror and she sees her face. Eames looks in a mirror and sees possibilities. He'll swap his skin for another, he'll change his face in a mirror, he'll sing in a different note and he'll dance in a different swing. He looks in a mirror and tells a lie. He tells it so convincingly that he believes it, and then he turns around and makes everyone else believe it too. He can be anything you want him to be. He can be anything he wants you to think he can be. She wonders what he is, really.

Ariadne watches the way Eames tips back the whiskey and drinks it down like prohibition is back in swing. There is a tremor in his hands and he holds the empty bottle after to steady them. Yusuf's hands tremble so that he can't thread the needle, and she tries for him. She can't help the numb shivers in her own hands. She gets it in the end and Yusuf sews Eames closed.

Eames is a gentleman. This, she is certain of. He doesn't come cheap, but he doesn't sell out his colleagues, Cobb tells her. He doesn't know when to quit, but he doesn't carry a grudge, Arthur says to her. He doesn't invest his money wisely, but he's a reliable source, Yusuf laughs to her. Ariadne thinks of a liar and a thief, a dangerous con-man in an underground world, and his gentle demeanor and good-natured humor. In this criminal practice, Eames is a gentleman.

Ariadne finds a ridiculous comfort settled in the room, one little lamp casting a warm golden glow across the walls. They are dry, they are warm, and they are bruised but alive. The tinge of blood is almost gone. Her mind drifts over tattoos and whiskey and the totem in her hand and she's falling asleep on a wide, padded chair.

Eames is a Forger and a thief from Mombassa, as complicated as a maze.

Ariadne is an Architect. She is very good with mazes.

..

"Ariadne."

She jerks and takes the silhouette of his hand. He helps her up.

Eames leads her out the door and into the hallway. The lights on the walls burn her eyes and she squints hard all around, like she's just stepped out of a dream. Maybe she has. She looks at Eames, ragged around the eyes with tousled hair, bruises raised discoloration, and wonders what _she_ must look like. He hasn't bothered to put his shirt on, jacket thrown over him haphazardly, and she can see the meshing of ink and damaged skin. She wonders what they must look like right now.

"What time is it?" she asks.

He rubs scabbing fingers across the stubble on his chin.

"Very early." He peers blearily at the watch on his wrist. "Just after three."

She's looking at him and she muses that he looks punch-drunk in this half-light.

"Are you all right?" And she ignores how stupid that sounds.

He just smiles at her and the side of those full lips may just be a little bit swollen.

"I'll see you at the party." Is all he says, and hands in pockets he slouches to his room.

The gala seems a lifetime away as she pads to her door and fumbles with the lock. Inside, on the floor just inside the entry, someone has slipped in a note. She picks it up and feels some little pang in her chest. _I'm sorry_ stares up at her apologetically from its neat little scrawl. She doesn't know if the sensation is from missed opportunities or from her lack of regret.

Ariadne crawls into her bed and considers the night and thinks,_ No, I regret nothing at all_.


End file.
